


Glove

by flippyspoon



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Clothing Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:37:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1983303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flippyspoon/pseuds/flippyspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy has been odd thoughts about Thomas's glove.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jimmy had been having odd thoughts about Thomas’s glove.It had started one night when Thomas handed him a wine glass and Jimmy’s hand curled over his, being careful not to drop it. But he hadn’t been paying attention and was inwardly startled to feel leather atop skin. Once Thomas had touched his neck with the gloved hand while he was playing piano. But that was before and he had been distracted by his own anger at the familiarity. Things were much different now. Not that Thomas was so familiar. On the contrary, he was careful around Jimmy, like some chivalrous knight in a fairy story. And Jimmy was the maiden faire.

He didn’t like that.

He didn’t fancy himself a maiden faire.

Couldn’t they just be two knights?

Maybe sometime soon Thomas and he would relax, and they could just be two knights.

Besides, ever since he had felt leather against skin, he had not felt like a maiden faire at all.

Maybe a really saucy maiden faire.

It was like a tick in his mind: leather and skin, leather and skin.

In the boot room one day, he went so far as to lay the calf of a boot against his arm and feel the fighting textures of both. But it wasn’t the same.

It wasn’t Thomas’s glove.

At tea in the servants’ hall one day, he thought himself daring just for spinning a fantasy in his mind of Thomas touching his neck the way he had before with his gloved hand. Only this time Jimmy wouldn’t mind it. Then the gloved hand traveled down his neck and under his shirt.

He dropped his spoon with a clatter at tea and everyone looked at him.

 

One day in the kitchen, Thomas said, ever so nonchalant, “I’m going into Ripon tomorrow. If anyone needs anything. Getting a new glove.”

Jimmy didn’t hear what Alfred was saying after that, which was no loss really.

He was stuck now on the thought of Thomas getting a new glove.

What would he do with the old one?

Also, would the new one be a different color? Would it feel different?

Also, why couldn’t he get Thomas’s bloody glove out of his head?

 

 

Jimmy discovered the next day, that Thomas had left his old glove behind when he went to fetch the new one. He knew this because he saw Thomas leaving and, as had become an unsettling habit, Jimmy’s eyes quickly traveled to where the glove should be. But instead of the usual leather one, there was instead something blue and woolen.

Jimmy didn’t comment.

Thomas went to Ripon.

Jimmy went upstairs.

He had not intended for anything untoward to happen.

He had certainly not intended to steal Thomas’s glove.

He just wanted to look at it. Or rather, pick it up and see if that feeling came back again.

Leather on skin.

Why? If he asked himself why, he would do as well to jump off London Bridge.

He found the glove in Thomas’s top drawer and held it in his hands, fondling the leather.

Thomas had said he wouldn’t be back until late. This too, had bothered Jimmy. What would keep him late in Ripon? There was nothing to do there.

On the other hand…

If Jimmy took the glove for a while-

 _To do what?_  His brain argued.

_Stuff it, brain._

_TO DO WHAT?!_

_STUFF IT!_

Jimmy didn’t inwardly answer the question of “to do what,” he just took the glove to his room before anyone caught him out. He shoved the glove under his mattress and went back downstairs.

He served dinner.

He ate his own dinner.

He went back upstairs as soon as he could get away with going to bed, and before Thomas was likely to be home. He went about his ablutions for the night and changed into his pajamas.

Once he was alone in his room, sitting on his bed, with the glove in his hands, his heart started racing. It was real now. He had truly stolen Thomas’s glove to…to…

He took off his shirt.

He put on the glove.

He lay on his back.

He closed his eyes.

He touched his own neck with his gloved hand, massaging it lightly the way Thomas had all the that time ago. Now he imagined it was Thomas again; crouched over him with a gaze full of desire. If it were Thomas, he would bring his hand slowly down over Jimmy’s chest just the way he’d imagined it at tea. The leather was softer than it looked, but not too soft.

Feeling utterly depraved, Jimmy sniffed it.

Smoke. Leather. Skin. Thomas.

His prick was hard and Jimmy held it in his gloved hand. That alone made him gasp and he bit his other fist. He imagined Thomas bringing him off and dragging his lips from Jimmy’s neck and down, down, down, retracing the glove’s trail. He stroked himself and wished it was Thomas’ hand; those long fingers. He even imagined that Thomas was in full white-tie livery while he was naked. There was something that aroused him even more about being under Thomas’s full control while his prick felt every wrinkle that Thomas’s hand had made in the supple leather. He bit his lip and quickened his stroking. Thomas’s mouth joining his hand…

Tongue. Leather. Skin.

He saw stoic blue eyes flashing in his head before he came.

On the glove.

That would need to be cleaned.

He relaxed afterward, panting and staring at the glove as if it where the culprit.

He heard footsteps in the hallway. Thomas was talking to Alfred. Jimmy sat up, threw the glove across the room, and put his shirt on, just in case. But the voices faded.

Now Thomas was home.

It was too late to return the glove.

Which would need to be cleaned.

On the other hand, maybe he wouldn’t notice. Since he had his new one. If not, well, Thomas would probably not suspect Jimmy of stealing his leather glove in order to bring himself off. That was unlikely. But Jimmy lay awake for a while worrying about it.

After eventually bringing himself off again.

In the morning, he woke early in order to sneak downstairs and find the proper kind of soap for cleaning the glove.

Which he was sort of hoping he might get away with keeping.

He had decided this at three o’clock in the morning.

In the scrubbing basin by the cleaning pantry, he lathered up the glove but was careful not to put any water on it. There was a special oil for cleaning leather after that.

He was oiling it when Thomas walked in.

“Is that my glove?”

Jimmy looked up at Thomas, who appeared slightly puzzled. He looked down at the glove which, the night before, he had used to pleasure himself and which he now considered a flawless artifact of pure eroticism.

“No,” Jimmy said. “I mean, yes. But… I found it. In the hall.”

“In the hall?” Thomas looked doubtful.

“Don’t look at me,” Jimmy said lightly, feeling an utter genius. “And somebody had stepped on it. So… I thought I’d clean it. You see.”

“Oh. Uh, thank you. Got a new one though.”

Jimmy nodded. All was right with the world. His clever deception had won the day. Perhaps he  _could_ convince Thomas to let him keep the old one for…playing cricket.

Or something.

Thomas said, “New one’s black. I thought it might be more sophisticated.”

He held up his hand to reveal a pristine black leather glove with silver rivets along the side.

Jimmy swallowed.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy tells Thomas about his fascination with a certain glove...

“How can a man live as long as you have and not know how to play poker?”  Jimmy said, shuffling a deck of cards at the servants’ table.

“I don’t know,” Thomas said.  “I just never learned.  You’re the only poker player here.”

“I’ve taught Alfred,” Jimmy said.  “But he’s rubbish.  And he can’t bluff for anything.  You would be an excellent bluffer.”

Jimmy’s eyes drifted for a moment to Thomas’s new black glove.  Thomas hid his wounded hand under his normal one.  He’d caught Jimmy looking at it often.  It made him self-conscious.  He’d thought the black glove was rather smart.  If he had to wear one, it might as well be fashionable. 

Abruptly he decided to nip it in the bud and held his gloved hand up.  “Does this bother you?”  Thomas said.

“What?  No!”  Jimmy said quickly.  He cut the deck again.  “No.  What do you mean?  No.”

“It’s not too…flashy?”  Thomas said.

“No, it’s fantastic!”  Jimmy said.  “I mean, never mind.  I can’t wait to get to Ripon.”

Thomas nodded.  He didn’t quite believe Jimmy, who had also asked to keep his old glove, claiming it would be useful for playing cricket.  Thomas thought it was strange.  It had sparked a lecture on his part regarding proper cricket attire that had nearly put Jimmy to sleep.

“That’ll be fun,” Thomas agreed.

They had begged an evening out, which Mr. Carson would never have agreed to normally.  Except that somehow the visiting Lord Gillingham had got wind of it and apparently he liked to be magnanimous with his servants.  Thomas imagined he was trying to impress Lady Mary.  Thomas would’ve been even more excited if it were just he and Jimmy going, but Alfred was tagging along and so was Gillingham’s valet, Green.  Thomas thought Green was a bit of an oaf.  Maybe he and Alfred would keep each other entertained.

When the evening came, he met up with Jimmy and the others, dressed in his going out clothes; a black pin-striped suit.  Jimmy was wearing a light grey suit with a green tie.  Thomas wasn’t sure how he felt about the green tie.  He noticed such things.

They went to a pub, where if you knew the right thing to say to the right person, you could get gin.

Somehow Jimmy had discovered the right thing to say to the right person.

He was good like that.

Two drinks in, Alfred and Green and taken over with a tedious conversation about food that defied belief.  Jimmy and Thomas kept smirking at each other.  When Thomas came back with  two more drinks, he found Jimmy at a different table.  Alfred and Green didn’t even notice.

“I thought I was goin’ to box me own ears,” Jimmy said.  He was soused.  Thomas sat down across from and slid him a glass with two fingers of gin in it. Maybe that was a bad idea.  Thomas would pace himself. 

One had to keep an eye out after all.

“Food’s for eating, not for talkin’ about,” Thomas said wisely.

“Exactly.”  Jimmy grinned and sat back in his chair.  The pub was noisy and smokey and they were in a covert little corner in the back.  “And there’re much more interestin’ things to talk about.”

“Such as?”  Thomas rose an eyebrow and lit himself a cigarette.

“All the things they tell you not to,” Jimmy said  “You know, religion, politics, sex-“

“Sex?”  Thomas smiled, trying to look more composed than he felt.  “I think that one’s off the table.”

“Oh, I don’t know.  Religion’s right off.  It’s not the night for that.  Politics is far too dry as well.  So…”

“I don’t think you and I of all people should-“

Jimmy smacked him in the arm.  “I’m not a maiden faire”

Thomas blinked at him. “Pardon?”

“I’m not a maiden faire,” he repeated. “You treat me like I’m a girl sometimes!”

“Jimmy, I’m more than aware that you are not a girl.”

“You’re always opening doors for me.”

“I’m polite.”

“You’re ridiculous!” He scratched his head and made a face that Thomas only ever saw him make when he was drunk. “You let the door slam right in Green’s nose when we came in.”

“Green’s a clod.”

“That don’t enter into it. Never mind Green. I’m saying, that I’m not a maiden faire. We’re a couple of knights.”

“Oh, we’re knights now, are we?” Thomas smoked, highly entertained. “We’re in service, we’re squires more like.”

“No, no, Alfred’s a squire,” Jimmy said. “We’re first footman and under butler. We’re a couple of knights.”

“If you say so.”

“And we’re mates,” Jimmy said sternly. “Mates and knights talk filth all day long.”

“Do they?”

“Sure! It’s like those stories…Cantershire Tales.”

“Canterbury.”

“That too.” He slammed his palm on the table and the glasses rattled. “They’re bawdy!”

“Nobody in Canterbury Tales was my sort,” Thomas pointed out. “I don’t think.”

“That doesn’t matter. I just want to know if…” Jimmy furrowed his brow, his expressions more pronounced in his drunkenness. “If, well, say you have thoughts…in that area, that’s aren’t what one might call normal?”

“Less normal than fancying blokes?” Thomas was honestly puzzled. What on earth was he getting at? Did Thomas even want to know?

“Yeah, yes. I mean, did you ever have a fantasy about somethin’ bizarre?” He drew out the word. “I heard Lady Anstruther say once that if we knew what went on in ordinary people’s heads half the time, society would crumble.”

“Doubtless.”

“So?”

Thomas coughed and shifted in his set. “You’re asking me my fantasies as far as…”

“Drink the gin!” Jimmy demanded. “That’ll loosen your tongue.”

“It’s certainly loosened yours,” Thomas muttered. But he took a sip anyway. All his fantasies involved Jimmy. That much was obvious. Jimmy must at least suspect that. What else was there? “I don’t know what you’re-”

“Like somethin’  _wild_ , Thomas,” Jimmy said. “Somethin’ you maybe want to do. Very badly. But it’s far too frightening. Or somethin’ nobody would admit to.”

“Well, if nobody’s goin’ to admit to it, neither am I.”

How was this conversation happening? On a regular day, Thomas might tried to figure that out. But there was liquor and a loud smokey room and in such situations more fun was generally had if you didn’t question it too much. He and Jimmy had been friends for a while now. He trusted that Jimmy bore him no ill will.

Jimmy snorted in derision. “C’mon, there must be somethin’ you can tell me. Like…like, I dunno. Tyin’ someone up or-”

Thomas had been drinking his gin and choked a little, glancing around to see if anyone was hearing them. Nobody was paying attention. “You’re askin’ me if I’ve ever thought of tying someone up? For the purposes of…?

“Or, maybe _being_ tied up. Just…tossin’ it out there.” Jimmy waved his hand around. “ _Randomly_.”

Thomas inhaled deeply on his cigarette and it sent the gin straight to his brain. “Funny, you should ask that,” he blurted, before his gin-brain could stop him. “I  _have_  actually…”

Jimmy looked very serious suddenly. His eyes were wide. “You’ve been tied up.”

“Well,” Thomas said, sheepish. “A little.”

Jimmy glowered at him. “Who was it? Who did the tying?”

“The Duke of Crowborough,” Thomas said simply.

“You were tied up by a _duke_?”

“A couple of times I did the tying,” Thomas said and tilted his head, thinking about it. “He was never certain which way he wanted it. Powerful men are like that.”

“What a bastard.”

Thomas wasn’t clear on why consensual tying-up made the duke a bastard but he didn’t comment.

Jimmy took a long and seemingly contemplative breath. “I need more gin.”

“I don’t know that you ought to have more gin,” Thomas said.

“No, I want to tell you something. But I’m going to need more gin.”

Given the thread of conversation, Thomas was curious.

He got Jimmy more gin.

Jimmy sat with his gin in front of him, his eyes rolling all around the room, anywhere but at Thomas. “Alright…so…”

“You wanted to tell me something.” Thomas wasn’t as drunk Jimmy. He wasn’t sober either.

“Yes,” Jimmy agreed. “First give me a cigarette.”

Thomas gave him a cigarette.

“Alright,” Jimmy said. He lit his cigarette and took a drag.

Thomas waited.

“Alright,” Jimmy said again. “It’s about your glove.”

“I knew it bothered you,” Thomas snapped.

“No, it doesn’t bother me,” Jimmy said. “Well, actually it bothers me quite a lot but-”

“I knew it-”

“Just shut up.” Jimmy was trying to speak while inhaling. “First, it’s about your old glove, the one I took.”

“I gave it to you,” Thomas reminded him.

“No, before that. I took it.” Jimmy exhaled. He pursed his lips and blinked rapidly. “I took it. I didn’t find it in the hall.”

“Ah.” Thomas rose an eyebrow. “Why? I would’ve lent it for…cricket? I’m tellin’ you, it’s not right for cricket.”

“It’s not for cricket,” Jimmy said helplessly. “It’s…it was… I…used it. To…”

Jimmy took a large gulp of gin that rather alarmed Thomas. He leaned over and whispered, “I used it… No, I still do. I use it to bring myself off.” Then he sat back, his eyes big as if he’d just revealed humanity’s greatest secret.

Thomas said, “Uh…pardon?”

“I think ya heard me!” Jimmy said.

Thomas broke out into a sweat. “Why would you… I mean. Are you saying you’re  _wearing_  it when you-”

“Yes.”

Thomas took a healthy swallow of his drink. “Um…”

_Bloody hot in here._

“But,” Jimmy said, “I can tell you that. Because we’re mates.”  
“Yes,” Thomas said. “Yes, we are mates.”

_He used my glove to bring himself off. He wore my glove while he touched himself._

_And now he’s telling me about it._

Given his drunken state, Thomas was handling this revelation with a certain amount of aplomb.

_“_ Right,” Jimmy said, slapping the table again. “There’s more.”

“There’s more,” Thomas repeated.

Thomas wandered if he could ask for the glove back.

Just to see if…something.

He was feeling the gin.

Jimmy said, “So. Guess who I was thinkin’ of?”

“Huh?”

“While I was…you know. With the glove.”

Thomas felt a shivering in his body that gave him an inexplicable stinging sensation in his shoulders.

_Me. Me. Me. Say me._

“I don’t want to guess,” he mumbled.

“C’mon, Thomas.”

Thomas stuck another cigarette in his mouth, aggravated. “Ivy.”

“No.”

“Daisy.”

“No.”

“Lady Rose.”

“No.”

Thomas was getting impatient. He kept forgetting to light his cigarette. He took it out of his mouth. “Oh, I don’t know. Mr. Branson then,” he said wryly.

“Warmer…” Jimmy said in a sing-song.

“Warmer as in…” Thomas racked his brain for a meaning that made logical sense.

Only one did.

Jimmy had been thinking of a  _man_  while he brought himself off with Thomas’s glove.

With Thomas’s glove.

Thomas said, “You’re not sayin’ that…”

Jimmy took another gulp of gin and cleared his throat. “Alright, yes. Yes, I think about you. It weren’t only the glove. And I wouldn’t be tellin’ you that if I weren’t plastered but…” Jimmy leaned forward and tapped his fingers on the table in time with his words. “That… doesn’t make it not true.”

Thomas’s shook his head. His face was on fire. “You’re…you’re teasin’ me. You’re winding me up.”

“ _No_ ,” Jimmy said firmly. “I wouldn’t joke about somethin’ like that. Not with you.”

They stared at each other.

For a long time.

“Let’s get some air,” they said at the same time.

“Bloody hot in here,” Jimmy said, putting out his cigarette.

“Boiling,” Thomas said.

 

Outside, in an alley between the pub and a cheese shop, Thomas leaned on the wall. Jimmy stood in front of him, swaying a little.

“So…” Thomas said. “Does this mean…? What does this mean?”

“I-I don’t know,” Jimmy said. “I-”

“ _Wait_  a minute. You asked me if I have any fantasies that I want but are too frightening.”

He congratulated himself on his short-term recall ability.

Because he could hardly stand on his feet.

“Yesssss,” Jimmy said.

Thomas nodded his head and furrowed his brows. “Are you saying… _I_ fit that criteria?”

“In a matter of speakin,” Jimmy said.

Thomas’s mouth split into a grin. He glanced away, blushing; beside himself.

Finally he said, “I’m not expecting anything. That knowledge alone is worth… I don’t know what. But if you never did a thing about it-”

“I want to do  _something_  about it!” Jimmy said. “I’m just  _nervous_.”

“Right.” Thomas crossed his arms. “Right. Of course.”

“Can I see your…” Jimmy licked his lips, looking very annoyed with himself. “Can I see your hand a minute?”

Thomas held out his hand.

“No, your other one.”

Thomas held out his gloved hand. Jimmy took his wounded hand in his. Thomas watched as Jimmy ran his thumbs over the leather and then interlocked his fingers with Thomas’s.

Jimmy said, “Maybe if we started here.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Further adventures involving the glove.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely certain?

“Bloody hell yes! Just wait here.”

So Thomas waited there. There being Jimmy’s room. Against all his notions of common sense. Though he had little notion of it in the first place.

Three nights ago Jimmy had held his hand after telling him he liked to get his pleasure while wearing Thomas’s glove. Nothing had happened since, outside of looks over breakfast or while serving the family dinner. They were looks that made Thomas want to sweep the plates and wine glasses of the table and take Jimmy right there in front of God and the Dowager Countess.

Then finally, Jimmy had come to him in the servants’ hall after everyone else had gone to bed and said something as revelatory as it wasn’t eloquent with the intensity of a general laying out a plan for battle:

“I want to do somethin’.”

“Something” was not defined. But they eventually agreed to meet in Jimmy’s room after bickering about it for ten minutes. Because Jimmy wanted it to be on his own territory. As if they were lions fighting over an antelope, Thomas thought.

Now he waited, still in his livery, standing in Jimmy’s sparsely furnished room. Jimmy was patrolling the hallway to make certain everyone was asleep. Thomas glanced around, unsure if he should sit on the bed or in the one chair, or if he should lean casually against the bureau. He opted for leaning casually, rolling his eyes when he noticed that Jimmy owned five mirrors.

It was odd that they were such close friends but Thomas never went to Jimmy’s room. Not since The Incident.

Jimmy returned, closing the door gently behind him and bitting his lip.

“All clear,” he reported.

“Oh,” Thomas said.

Jimmy stood in front of Thomas and said, “Um.”

Having no better ideas, Thomas attempted his usual move and attempted to caress Jimmy’s cheek.

“Aah, wait…” Jimmy jerked and took a step back.

Thomas flashed to a certain Turkish diplomat. He desperately wanted a cigarette to calm his nerves. “ _You’re_  the one who said that-”

“I know. I know!” Jimmy ran a hand through his hair and shifted on his feet. “I do want to do, you know, things. It’s just a bit difficult to explain what I mean…”

“Jimmy.”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to wear the glove?”

“Yes,” Jimmy said, with a sigh of relief. “And I want to… It’s so embarrassing.”

“It’s alright,” Thomas said quietly. “Whatever it is. Trust me. I won’t be complaining.”

_I hope._

Ever since Jimmy had mentioned the thought of “tying someone up,” Thomas’s mind had raced with the possibilities. And some of them were a bit frightening.

Jimmy nodded and on the bureau he found the glove he had stolen from Thomas. Thomas watched him slip it on and felt weak in the knees. Jimmy was close to him and Thomas resisted the urge to maul him with his lips.

“I want to touch you,” Jimmy said slowly. “But you can’t touch me.”

_Good God in heaven._

“I see.”

Jimmy mimicked Thomas, caressing his cheek with the gloved hand. The room was deathly quiet all of a sudden. His hand traveled to Thomas’s neck and felt the plus point under his jaw. Which meant Jimmy knew just how fast Thomas’s heart was beating.

Jimmy said, “Can I, uh…take off your clothes?”

Thomas nodded.

Jimmy untied Thomas’s tie and laid it on the bureau like a proper valet. He took off Thomas’s waistcoat, removed his collar, and went about unbuttoning his shirt with the concentration of a soldier dismantling a rifle. When he peeled off Thomas’s undershirt, Thomas said, “Um… So I’m to be what…naked? And you’re not?”

“Well…yes,” Jimmy said. He was staring at Thomas’s chest as if he wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Come here to the bed.”

Thomas lay down on the bed and Jimmy sat beside him. He rested his gloved hand on Thomas’s neck again and made a trail a down his chest, slowly, to the buckle of his belt. His eyes were wide and wild.

“This is what I do,” Jimmy whispered. He unbuckled Thomas’s belt, unbuttoned his trousers, and pulled them down, shoving them off the bed to Thomas’s slight consternation. “To myself.”

“Oh…ah!” Thomas sucked in a breath when Jimmy touched him, after hesitating briefly. Somehow Thomas’s underpants had magically disappeared.

The feel of Jimmy’s hand that was part leather and part warm skin… The idea that it was  _his_  glove that Jimmy had worn while touching himself….

Jimmy’s left hand stroked him, his right hand wandered Thomas’s body as if it couldn’t decide wear to go.

Jimmy said, “This is what I imagine you doin’ to  _me_.”

The thought was almost too much to bear, and because Jimmy had said “no touching” on his end, Thomas gripped the rails of the headboard behind him. Jimmy caught Thomas’s left hand, which wore the new black glove and brought it to his cheek, kissing the leather, his breathing heavy. “Does this feel good?”

“God yes,” Thomas said, gasping.

Jimmy’s stroking became more vigorous as he nuzzled the black leather, massaging his neck with Thomas’s hand. The rivets made marks on his skin.

“Because,” Jimmy said, breathless, “you’re thinkin’ of me doin’ this to myself while thinkin’ of you?”

“Yes.”

Jimmy squirmed on the bed and Thomas could see that he was obviously aroused as well. “And I do,” Jimmy went on. “I think of… I think of being naked under you and you touching me like this. Or even better, your  _mouth_  on me. I think about it all the time, Thomas. And, uh… Now you know that. When I’m servin’ dinner to the family and you’re pouring the wine… Nnnn… And If I catch your eye…  _That’s_  what I’m thinkin’ about.”

When Jimmy put Thomas’s hand between his own legs and pressed into him, Thomas arched off the bed, his mind ringing and buzzing, and he couldn’t help but squeeze Jimmy. Jimmy groaned and rutted into Thomas’s hand. His face red, his beautiful lips parted. He grabbed Thomas’s other hand and sucked on his fingers, biting them as he came with a grunt. Jimmy slumped over, resting his head on Thomas’s stomach and mouthing along the sweaty skin there. Thomas watched him, dazed.

“I know it’s strange,” Jimmy said, his voice a little muffled.

“Maybe,” Thomas said, and swallowed. “But it’s…fairly wonderful.”

Jimmy chuckled.

“You really think about this when you’re servin’ dinner?” Thomas said.

“Yes,” Jimmy said. “Or sitting at the table with you. Or polishing silver. Or bathing. Or-”

“Alright,” Thomas laughed. He finally touched Jimmy of his own volition, tousling his mussed up hair. “Fantastic.”

 

 


End file.
